Poems

Eros the Contagion

Soft as a Claude painting, the yellow sky tonight—trees in the parking lot still thick, though the air, yes,has an edge, the honey was solid in the jarwhen I opened it this morning, found a single antfrozen in the dunes, stunned by sweetness.Can you really die of sweetness? Hardto say yes, though I want to, looking up at these cloudsthat make my heart jump: oh joy in seeingthough I can’t touch, like the girl repeating persimmonas the waitress in the diner tells her about a treeat the top of the hill she used to see, how beautifulthat vivid orange fruit was all at once.Can’t touch them, but I see them in her eyes asshe remembers persimmons. Maybe that wasmy mistake: thinking every love was different, a fruitinside its own clear mason jar—my love, her love, his,all separate as the trees they fell from. Maybe loveis more contagion, bubbles in a bathtub slowlyswelling, all the little circles drifting, glidinggently into each other until they burst, untilnothing’s left but foam, the sound of rushing water.